the Life of a Teenage Madman

Blake - Mcminnville, Oregon
Entered on February 26, 2009
Age Group: Under 18
  • Listen to This I Believe on RadioPublic

  • Podcasts

    Sign up for our free, weekly podcast of featured essays. You can download recent episodes individually, or subscribe to automatically receive each podcast. Learn more.

  • FAQ

    Frequently asked questions about the This I Believe project, educational opportunities and more...

  • Top Essays USB Drive

    This USB drive contains 100 of the top This I Believe audio broadcasts of the last ten years, plus some favorites from Edward R. Murrow's radio series of the 1950s. It's perfect for personal or classroom use! Click here to learn more.


Everybody has those days. You know, the kind of days where all Hell breaks loose, and you feel helpless and can’t do anything about it? Bet mine’s worse than yours. My life is the kind of thing that makes you want to shoot yourself in the head, kinda funny at first and then you realize, “Oh God… he’s not kidding…” one thing to remember is, when sh** hits the fan, spray some air cleaner, and get on with your life. I have done all of that Emo-Bull-Sh**, I have cut myself, drowned myself, smothered myself, bashed my self, broke myself, and hurt myself in possibly the most ways imaginable. I have been beaten, bloodied, slashed, stabbed, shot at, whacked, thrown, and destroyed. I have been arrested twice for assault, forsaken by friends and family, and a failure.

One thing that nobody seems to remember is, I cannot die, I will not die, and I will not give up. I have taken the road, I have seen the Hell in and beyond it, and I have battled every demon the Beast could throw at me with the words in my heart, “Take your best shot!” This is only a piece of my life, as you will see, and the Asylum welcomes you in with open hands. You are about to step into a hidden reality within your own, the Hell of my life contrasting all of your ideas of the world. Hell, as you will see, is not only in the Bible.

One of my most memorable days in Hell, the first day of first grade, was the day of my first ‘I’m gonna kill you if I get the chance’ fights. One thing to remember in these situations, is, don’t get caught. I kinda threw that out the window when I caused considerable damage to the third grader I was fighting’s left arm. It turned out that I had torn the a**hole’s arm out of his socket, causing major damage to the muscle tissue, and severe bleeding. The fight went as this; my older sister was sick that day, so she wasn’t there to defend herself, and a third grader (my sister was a fourth grader) tried to talk trash, calling her a whore, b****, trailer trash redneck cheapf***, and another word I refuse to say, or even write. When I heard him saying this absolute bullsh**, I went to investigate. Upon arrival, I discovered a c***sucking, d**** munch, talking as so, treating everything like he wouldn’t have to back up his words. Well, he was Damn Wrong. In Redneckville, if you treat someone’s family like that, you can expect to literally eat your foot.

Nobody in that town seemed to remember who my father was, Donald L P, Junior. He was in over 100 fights by the end of the first semester in first grade, destroyed the bodies of almost 100 people he had felt wronged him, been arrested several times on assault charges, almost killed several people (at the same time), carried a gun with him almost anywhere he went, a master hunter, ex-US Marine, broken almost everyone he met in high school, and had a severe revenge policy such as, ‘Don’t start the fight, finish it’ or my favorite, ‘Hit me once, shame on me, hit me twice, I’ll f*** your face up so f***ing bad, not even God will f***ing recognize you… Bitch’ Once, when I was in third grade, he got so pissed at me that he tied me up with a rope, wrapped it around my body, and threw me up a twenty foot tree, putting me, hanging up a tree by over fifteen feet, trying to reach my pocket knife so I could cut myself down. Anyway, back to the fight.

When I went up to him to tell him that he was a lying sack of steaming dogsh**, he took a swing at me (the stupidest thing he could have done), saying that I was a little redneck short-sh**, who didn’t know the difference between the food on my plate and the dogturd in my mouth, also saying that I should go suck a rusty d***. Frigging dumbass. Didn’t have a clue what redneck Hell he had just unleashed. As he continued to swing, swaying slightly to the left with each motion. While he continued to fight a small enemy, I studied his style. He obviously had been in only one fight, four tops. His swings were a sloppy variation of the roundhouse; his footing became loose with every step he took, he wasted energy like he was eating PEZ™, and he also let his anger get the best of him when he realized that someone called his bluff. He did not seem to know what he was doing, swinging like a monkey in a banana tree, when I caught him in the nose with a thrust from my palm, sending his nose to his right cheek to say hi and stay awhile. As he sat there, bewildered, with a steady stream of blood pouring from where his nose once was, I hit him with my variation of some karate punch, more suited for offense than defense, making him stagger back with a drunken expression on his face. When he had finished falling back, I ran up to the side of him with a form of my dog’s defensive maneuver, a thing my family calls, the thunder drop. I reached for his head; put him in a throat-crushing sleeper hold/headlock sort of thing, and then I threw all of my weight into my torso, dropping both of my legs, spinning around, and body-slamming him, all simultaneously. Needless to say, he felt that feeling of having the crap beat out of him, and, when I had finally let him up from the move, he had two very colorful words for me; at least, he had before I continued to pound him in the face with my textbook, and punching him in his previously relocated nose. Heh… good times.

When he had fallen, barely breathing, I had decided to have a little mercy on him; instead of pounding the hell out of him until he was a corpse, I simply chose an alternative punishment. I grabbed his arm, propping it on top of two benches, a butt-sized gap between them, holding onto his elbow with my left arm, swung up, landing on his upper forearm, between his shoulder and his elbow, popping his shoulder out of place, stretching and tearing the muscle, along with shattering his elbow. After this fight, I simply said five words to him, while he sat there bleeding and screaming on the schoolyard, these words were this; “leave them the f*** alone.” My belief is, everybody should respect one another, or all we will be is a reflected image of my younger days; violent, psychotic, merciless, malevolent, and insentient. I have changed my ways, and have not been in a fight for over two years, and within that, I have gained new friends, a loving family, and a newly renewed faith in the God above. I go to church every Sunday morning, I see my friends every day and most weekends, and I have successfully graduated from both my anger-management class, and my personal mentor. I thank God for this day, I am a new man, and I know that my Heavenly Father loves me. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.